


Twisted Olive Branch

by Eudaimonias_Revenge



Series: Ariadne and Theseus [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Partners, Aurors, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Murder Mystery, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudaimonias_Revenge/pseuds/Eudaimonias_Revenge
Summary: The mystery continues, and the group is off to Russia. Hermione tries to digest what she and Draco did together while avoiding advances from a new acquaintance. The tensions are now higher, as are the stakes, as the witch forces herself to focus on the mission rather than the memories of how Draco touched her."Fly, black raven!My heart on open hatchFly, black raven!Come back, raven!Twist your twisted leg upon that twisted olive branch."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Series: Ariadne and Theseus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880461
Comments: 11
Kudos: 82





	Twisted Olive Branch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies! This chapter has been finished for 2 months! I know! Wild, right? I waited for a beta to do a read-through, but she was busy. So I did my own edits, and this is the result. Thank you for your patience.

“Mione."

…

"Hermione."

…

“Earth to Hermione.”

...

"Hermione Jean Granger!"

Hermione jumped in her seat as she looked over at Harry. She couldn't say how long he tried to get her attention before having to use her full name, but from the look of concern on his face, she guessed it had been a while. 

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked her, black brows furrowed.

The witch took a glance around the room at the other Heads, avoiding the eyes of one in particular before she turned back to Harry and lied, "Yes. Of course. I was thinking about the case. I’m sorry. I believe I was somewhere else. 

“I’d say,” Ron said with a smirk before taking a large bite out of a chicken sandwich he'd been given by Harry at the start of the noon meeting. 

“You’ve been off since you returned,” Harry said. “Are you sure you're alright? Did something happen?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I’m perfectly fine, Harry.”

It took all of her willpower not to look at Malfoy at that moment.

“Glad to hear it. Now, as I was saying,” Harry stood and started walking around the room, and continued with whatever he’d been talking about before he realized Hermione wasn’t paying attention. "You got a look at Mikkels' body this morning. Was there anything strange? Any healed runes like there had been on the victim in France?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. The only thing different about the runes was that they were smaller, and there were more of them. None had been healed."

"And this rune made of clay and blood that you found in Mikkels' house. Have there been any leads as to where the clay came from?"

It was Malfoy he was talking to this time, and Hermione stared down at the tabletop as the blonde answered in a lower than usual voice, "We believe it came from the Thames, but we aren't yet sure which part. My assistant, Chudpeak, is cross-referencing the sample with others in our database."

"I like that bloke. Chudpeak," Ron interjected, then took another bite of his sandwich. Larse had worked for Ron, right out of Hogwarts, a year before transferring to work in the Dark Arts department.

"Up-standing lad," Dean agreed.

"Indeed," was Malfoy's single-word reply. He didn't seem up to talking much, from the tone in his voice, and Hermione started to wonder how he was feeling about what happened. She'd assumed he would be pleased with himself for some sick reason. She hadn't expected to see him as introspective as she was.

Hermione felt disappointed in herself, and after healing her bruises, she had taken extra long showers in her hotel room both the night before and that morning in an attempt to get the feeling of his hands on her to go away.

It hadn't worked.

"I agree. Good lad," Harry added, then continued talking about the case. "If your hunch is correct, Hermione, which I have no reason to believe otherwise, then that means our killer may visit any of the remaining crime scenes at any moment. We have round the clock surveillance at Coddling’s building, and Ron has informed them that you will be visiting the flat today. I expect Hermione and Draco to be done with the place by the end of the day, and I want Hermione to stay as long as is necessary for her to give Coddling’s body the final once over before we release him to his family for burial.

“Tomorrow, we have plans for Dean, Draco, and ‘Mione to head to Samara at eight sharp, so be ready. They’re exhuming Mr. Arlov as we speak and will be awaiting your arrival. You can first inspect the body and then the crime scene this time around. Arlov’s mother is, and for lack of a better expression, fucking livid at our digging her son up, so let’s get to it chop-chop.

“Are there any questions?” Harry looked around the room.

“I have one,” Ron said.

“Yes, Ron, what is it?” Harry asked pleasantly.

“Where’d you get this sandwich, mate? It’s bloody fantastic!” Ron's eyes shone brightly.

Hermione gave him a look, which he ignored, and she looked to Dean, who smiled and shook his head at their ginger teammate. Then, her eyes deceived her. She looked to Draco for the second time that day- the first to see if he had healed his wounds, which he had- and found his eyes stuck to the table before him, a frown on his brow. She averted her attention from him with lightning speed.

“From a Muggle deli that's around the corner from my tailor. I saw it and I thought of you,” Harry said with a bright smile at his best friend of over twenty years.

“You are a scholar and a gentleman,” Ron said, tipping his sandwich at his boss in thanks.

“Why, thank you,” Harry replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was over this. She didn't want to be in the room with Malfoy any longer than she had to be. She asked, “Are we done playing with each other's dicks, or can we get to it? Chop-chop and all that?”

She'd picked a few things up while being in "the boy's club" for two-thirds of her life. Especially from Ron. She had to speak to them in their own language sometimes, to get her point across. 

“Yes," Harry said with a grin. It amused him when Hermione swore. "Of course. Let’s do this, people!” Harry dismissed them, and Hermione and Draco stood very quickly. They missed the strange looks they were getting from their coworkers as they gathered their things and left in a hurry.

Hermione headed back to her division to fetch Killian, giving him the low-down as they headed for the Disapparation point.

****

Just when Hermione thought that work couldn't get any more complicated, she went and fucked Draco Malfoy. 

She was reeling from it. She couldn't let it go. But she couldn't blame herself for being distracted because it was all very shocking. This was only made worse by the fact that she had never felt so satisfied in her life. She was still tense, but considerably less so, and this made her both confused and angry.

It had taken all of Hermione's Gryffindor courage to walk back into Amsterdam's Ministry building that morning to inspect Mikkels' body. She feared Malfoy being there like he'd been when they'd inspected Hivethackle. But he'd been absent, Killian telling her that Malfoy and his team were finishing up their side of things in the temporary office.

She'd shuddered at the thought of the room, glad she didn't have to go back. 

But now, here she was, standing on the cobbles outside of Coddling's building in Kingston on three hours of sleep. When they arrived, Hermione was lost in thought, so much so that she followed Ron and their team members up the stairs and into Coddling's flat before she realized her feet had moved. She felt as though she'd Apparated there.

Ron led them to the back of the flat and into Coddling's bedroom, where the murder had taken place. Ron's team found all of the furniture for the room had been banished, or otherwise disposed of. That left the killer room to do their work, covering every surface in runes and plants, crystals, candles, dirt, sand, and salt. The altar was just as the one in Almere, the large rune and circle burned into the wood of the floor. 

With quick eyes, Hermione hunted for a blood and clay rune but saw nothing of the sort.

"Who took samples of the scene?" Malfoy asked Ron, and Hermione tried to block him out. 

When she heard his voice, all she could hear was him saying her name into her ear as he came, arms wrapped around her, cock pulsing.

"It was Middlebrook."

"Would it offend if I took my own samples?" Malfoy asked respectfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Watching him be courteous of others always made her want to hit her head on something.

"Not at all," Ron said. "If it helps us catch the killer, you can do whatever you want."

"Splendid," Malfoy said before Conjuring a vial and scalpel. 

Hermione moved to the window, spelling it open. She needed some air. The smell of old blood and stale herbs was too much for her all of a sudden. She suspected it could have been the presence of a certain Slytherin, but she didn't want to admit that he had any more power over her than he did.

The witch took in a deep breath of fresh air, closing her eyes as she let the slight breeze play over her face. When she opened them again, she looked out over the field that sprawled behind the building, past a couple of large houses, and down to…

The witch tilted her head, slowly, her eyes growing wide as she stared at the River Thames, which flowed a few hundred meters from the building.

"No bloody way," Hermione said, her mind clicking as the case made her forget, for just a second, about her and Malfoy. Until she turned to see him looking up at her expletive. "Malfoy. I need Chudpeak."

"What?" He asked, glancing at the assistant who was already working on something, Larse looking between them in confusion.

"I need to borrow him. For only a few minutes."

"What for?" Malfoy asked, frowning at her.

"The Thames." She said, pointing over her shoulder and out the window.

Malfoy caught on quickly, standing and moving past her to look out the window for a second before turning to give her a wide-eyed look of understanding. 

When he stepped into her personal space, she froze up. When he took her by the wrist, she stopped breathing. When she did so again, breathed, it was cool air rushing off the surface of the flowing water of the Thames. He'd Apparated them behind some bushes near the bank of the river, and he let go of her to hold out the vial and scalpel he'd brought along with them.

"Get a sample," he said. "And I'll have Larse analyze it immediately."

She blinked up at him, and he down at her, and all she could do was stare at him for many seconds. They were alone together. And so soon after their encounter. She'd planned to never be alone with him again, but he didn't seem to mind. He just stood quietly, his grey eyes appraising her face.

Finally, he broke the silence by asking, "Isn't this what you meant? That the clay may have come from here?"

She licked her lips and gave shallow nods. "Yes." She nodded more obviously. "It is."

Hermione turned from him and walked through the grass and across the walking path to the riverbank. She bent down and scooped some of the mud into the vial with the scalpel. She stood and looked at it in the sunlight.

"Let's get back," she said as she made her way back to the bushes, where she Disapparated without him. He followed her, the two landing in the living room in Coddling's flat.

Without asking or warning, Draco took the vial from her and walked into the room to stand before Larse. "Take this to the office. Cross-analyze it with the clay in the rune we found."

Larse nodded, and in a blink of an eye and a crack, he was gone.

"Are you thinking the killer got the clay from around here?" Ron asked her, the witch staring at Draco's back as he went back to working with Rosalind. Killian came to stand beside her, listening to the conversation between the two old friends. 

"I don't see why not," Hermione answered. "We need to start somewhere. If it came from here, that means there was roughly a fifty-hour timespan between the killer being here and going back to Almere. We'll be able to check the Portkey logs of those three days and cross-reference them with that of the Netherlands’."

"Brilliant as ever," Ron said appreciatively. "Let's hope that's all it takes. It's been almost four days since Coddling died. If the killer is consistent, there can be a new case by tomorrow's end. Perhaps we can catch them before then, then you lot won't have to stay too long in Samara."

Hermione imagined the end of the investigation, which meant she and Malfoy would cease working together so closely. They wouldn't have to talk to one another until there was another case that required both of their attention.

That sounded heavenly to her, and even more so when Malfoy glanced at her from the other room.

She ignored him and turned her attention to Killian as Ron walked back into the room with the others. Her assistant turned to her, looking both worried and confused, and the witch asked him, "Is there something wrong?"

It was her turn to look confused. "No. Why?"

Killian's eyes darted to the other room before he asked, "Malfoy was- uh… In your personal space."

Hermione blinked at him as her mind went back to the moment where Malfoy had grabbed her by the arm. Killian, who got to see Hermione's conversations with Malfoy more than most, had obviously found it odd that the Dark Arts Head had been so willing to touch her after the past ten months of the two hating being in the same room together.

"Oh. That. I hardly noticed," Hermione brushed it off, looking to Coddling's room.

"That's even more strange."

"Why?"

"Because you are so on when you're in the room together. Like one of you is waiting for the other to make a wrong move."

Hermione didn't speak about how much she hated Malfoy to any of her coworkers, besides Harry, and only when necessary because she found it unprofessional. She also figured it was obvious that they weren't each other's biggest fan. No one had to ask.

She did speak to Ginny about it, though. And she knew, what with recent developments, that a call to Mrs. Potter's house was in order, and as long as the red-head woman could keep the secret from her husband just long enough for Hermione to decide what needed to be done about it.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted to her assistant. "But I'm going to chalk it up to the both of us being too distracted to care."

Killian nodded at her answer, looking mostly convinced. Hermione then started in on her part of the investigative process, and quickly changed the subject in doing so.

****

Hermione stood alone in the morgue. She'd told Killian he could go home after they'd finished at Coddling's flat, for they'd stayed until almost seven. She'd also told their healer, Monty, that he didn't have to assist her. He'd seemed happy about that. His wife had just had a baby a couple of months prior and was grateful to her that he got to leave earlier than he'd thought.

She was the truly grateful one, however. She wanted to be alone. She'd been surrounded by people all day and hadn't had the opportunity to breathe freely. 

Before the witch began her examination, she sat in a chair off to the side of the room and put her face in her hands. She started playing back the events of the past few days, getting caught up in the memories of the night before, of she and Malfoy shagging like idiots in a foreign Ministry building. 

Harry, and not to mention Dean, would kill them if they ever found out about it. There was no rule saying the department heads couldn't date one another -not that that was what they were doing. She was convinced it was mostly because Harry knew the chances of any of them hooking up were slim to none. But if they would have been caught, it would have meant a particularly awkward meeting between them and the Netherlands, and she and Malfoy would have been harshly reprimanded, if not fired. They hadn't locked the door or silenced it, or taken any other precautions. Even at the late hour, they could have easily been walked in on.

Thankfully, though, she'd thought of using a contraception charm in the lift immediately afterward. That was precaution enough for her. Losing her job was a cake-walk in comparison to spawning Draco Malfoy's brats.

Hermione sighed as she sat up straight, asking herself, "What the fuck, Hermione? What the hell is going on?"

The memories of her time in Malfoy's arms disturbed her, but, more and more throughout the day, she'd started to find that she was physically reacting to them. And she wasn't getting ill like she thought she should. Instead, she felt goosebumps on her arms, and her heartbeat sped up, and the heat at her collar was enough for her to undo the top two buttons of her blouse. It wasn't the one she'd had to repair that morning, but the memory of Summoning the buttons back from the office made her relive the moment he'd torn the blouse off.

She groaned.

Standing, the witch moved to the table that Coddling's body lay on, donning gloves before she removed the purple sheet and let it rest on the table at his feet.

Then she set in on her work, forcing Malfoy from her mind as she checked over Monty's notes. There were about twenty unique runes on the man's front, all of which she knew. With her wand, she turned the body over and frowned when she saw, in pink and red, a scarred rune above Coddling's left buttock. She looked over the report thoroughly, twice, and noted that the rune was not cataloged, let alone mentioned as a scar. 

"Christ on the cross," Hermione swore as her mind started flipping through her options.

When her mind was made up a minute later, she conjured her Patronus and started her message:

"Malfoy. I need you in the morgue. There's a scarred rune on the body that I don't recognize."

Her otter bounced happily out of the room, and she watched it go. Then she started wondering if she'd been too hasty asking him for help. She should have asked Rosalind. She seemed to be something like Malfoy's second. Highly intelligent and knowledgeable in runes for being only twenty-one years old. 

Then she thought of how Malfoy would likely lose his marbles on Hermione for telling his assistants what to do, just as he'd done the day before. Not to mention that there was the added worry of her and Malfoy having a row over it. Who was to say that the two of them wouldn't fight when he got there and end up shagging in the morgue?

It had all become so complicated, and waiting for him to show was nerve-wracking. Was he going to show? Was he going to ignore her message? Doubtful. If he showed, they'd be alone, again, and she was about ninety-five percent sure she didn't want that.

Only ninety-five.

He arrived much faster than she'd thought. She assumed he must have still been in the building to show up after only five minutes.

"It's perfect timing, really," he began as he entered, "that you sent for me. I was already on my way. Here," he passed her a report as he walked past her to the body. He didn't so much as look at her. "Read that."

She blinked at him once before she followed directions, looking at the report from Larse's analysis, the test confirming that the clay had come from the riverbank in Kingston, and had been mixed with Coddling's blood, not Mikkels'.

"I was right, then," she said aloud, mostly to herself, pleased.

"Mm-hm," was Malfoy's idle reply, the man having pulled on gloves before looking at the rune on Coddlings back, his finger tracing the shape as his mind worked.

She watched him from the other side of the table, how he stood back, and crossed his arms while leaning on the empty table behind him, eyes glued to the rune.

"Do you know it?" Hermione asked.

He nodded. "Yes. It just doesn't make sense."

"Well? What is it?" He had her on the edge of her seat. 

"I have a question for you," he said.

Hermione was suddenly cautious at his low tone, saying slowly, "Ok..?"

"What would be the significance of carving the rune for 'beloved' into someone?" He let his arms fall to his side and began to slowly walk around the table, his eyes on hers.

She blinked at him, becoming uneasy as she realized he was moving closer to her. "Uh… I'm… I'm not sure." 

He knew she didn't know. What was he playing at? It was his job to decide which runes were used and for what reason.

"Could you begin to speculate," he was close now, not a foot away, "why one," he took one more step and was toe-to-toe with her, "would carve the rune for 'enemy' on somebody else?"

"That's… That's what it means?" Her thinking was becoming foggy at his proximity. 

He nodded, his hand reaching up slowly, his fingertips coming to rest on one of the scars on her neck that peeked out above the collar of her blouse. He traced it lightly, down to her collarbone, asking, "Why would someone heal them?"

She didn't know why she didn't move. She was stuck, staring him in the eyes as he towered over her. Her breath was coming in short puffs, and her heart was audibly beating against her ribs. She began to wonder if he was going to kiss her, and she wondered if she would let him, and how it would feel, and if the kiss would be possessive or soft. His touch was soft, tender, a caress if she'd ever known one. And for him to touch the scars that so negatively affected her self-esteem, like he might have found them beautiful.

She had to get away from him.

"That," she began weakly, before clearing her throat and looking away from him to the rune. "That is your job, isn't it? To find out?" She stepped away from him, inwardly cursing herself for allowing him to get so close to her.

She hated him.

"It is," he confirmed, and thankfully, he didn't get any closer. "You say that Mikkels didn't have one?"

"He didn't."

"I'm interested whether or not Arlov will have one."

"I suspect we'll know in the morning," she said.

"I suspect we will." There was silence, and she looked up to him. He glanced away before setting his face in indifference. "Was there anything else you needed from me, Granger?"

She shook her head. 

He nodded, turned, and left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She turned and made her way back to the chair she'd been sitting in earlier, and her face found the palms of her hands once again. She groaned.

Part of her began to wonder if the two of them should have breached the subject of what happened between them, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She hadn’t been able to process. She needed time to think about everything before saying the first thing that came to mind. That was never a good idea. 

Besides, she had, for just a moment, wondered what it would feel like for him to kiss her again when they'd been close. She waited to see if he would. Did that mean she had wanted him to?

What was going on with her? 

With a sigh, she made a note to request the Portkey logs first thing in the morning, as well as those from the Netherlands, for the fifty hours she suspected she’d find her answer. She had to focus on work. There was a killer on the loose, and it was her responsibility to find them. People’s lives were at stake, and she had to stop allowing Malfoy to take up the majority of her thoughts if she was going to save whoever was next on the killer’s list.

****

Hermione had had another restless night’s sleep. She knew she’d dreamed, but she couldn’t remember what it had been about when she awoke. All she knew was that Malfoy had been it, and it had put her in a foul mood, which was further exacerbated when she looked to her clock and saw that it read half-past five. The witch had groaned as she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t. Her mind zeroed in on a certain blonde menace, and it had irritated her so much she got out of bed. 

If she was going to be up, then she was going to focus on work.

An hour later she was freshly washed and dressed, and sitting at her desk, planning on getting to the Portkey office once it opened at seven. In the meantime, she studied pictures of the crime scene in Samara. They'd be traveling there the second everyone was present and accounted for. She had to be on her toes.

There would be no more messing around.

When five to seven came, she left her office with all of her effects. She made it to the Portkey office right as it opened, and she filled out the request form necessary to attain the records she needed. Harry had told her Dean would request the records from Amsterdam. She then sat and waited for the rest of the group to show up. To keep her mind off of Malfoy she began to flip through the Russia file, committing everything she could to memory. 

When Killian walked in at half-past seven, she considered giving him a raise. Not only because he earned it outright and evaluations were just around the corner, but also because this meant she wouldn't be forced to be alone with Malfoy when he came. The blonde was always punctual, consistently arriving earlier than everyone else. She considered the raise a second time when Malfoy arrived five minutes later.

With a thick tension in the air evident only to Hermione and Malfoy, Killian spoke freely, with excitement in his voice. No one outside of MLE was around to hear him, so he started talking about the work he’d been doing, going through old cases that mentioned anything about serial killers, both Muggle.and magical. She followed his train of thought, commenting when necessary, even asking for copies of his findings, and grateful that Malfoy had kept his mouth shut.

At ten to eight, Dean showed up, and not a minute after that Rosalind and Larse made their entrance. 

“The gang’s all here, right?” Dean asked, looking from Malfoy to Hermione, who nodded at him. “Good. Let’s do this. Time to catch this sick fuck before anyone else has to die.” 

Dean walked up to the counter, and a minute later the six of them were grabbing hold of the wooden bowl Portkey, which set them down in the most extravagant Ministry building Hermione had ever seen, hidden within the Bank of Moscow. Her jaw dropped at its grandeur, her eyes darting around and taking in everything she could.

Her teammates were doing the same, even Malfoy, who she assumed had seen the most lavish of buildings in his time being a rich arsehole. But the building must have been something else, even to him, because his face held the most innocent look of awe she’d seen on him since they entered Hogwarts for the first time. 

Until she looked away with a self-loathing glare at her appreciating his face.

The group was greeted by a squat wizard with a large, black beard, the man almost looking like a smaller version of Hagrid, who led them through the building to the Minister’s office. His name was Pavel Kuznetsov, a tall man who Hermione instantly recognized as a wizard who was cocky, assured, and played no games.

This observation was confirmed when he turned to look at them, saying before any introductions were made, “Ah. The bed-wetters are here.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked, a confused smile on his face. Hermione raised a brow at the Minister.

“You’re from the British Ministry, are you not?” Kuznetsov asked, a smirk on his face.

“We are,” Dean confirmed, still pleasant. 

“I’m simply commenting on the fact that the British Minister has left his law department in the hands of children,” was the Minister’s reply. 

It was not news that the British MLE was run by people all under the age of thirty. It had been so for years, and it was apparent Kuznetsov had a problem with that. He must have been reaching his 80th year, himself, but his eyes were sharp, and movements confident. He might have been minister as long as they'd been alive.

“Yikes,” Hermione heard Killian whisper, the young wizard looking to Hermione with wide eyes. She shook her head at him as inconspicuous as possible, cautioning him to be quiet, but she shared his sentiment within her heart.

This was bound to be interesting.

“Ah! Oh, yes,” Dean said, his smile brightening. “We get that rather a lot, but I will inform you that we have a ninety-two percent solve rate, which, with all due respect, is higher than yours by forty-five percent, last I checked.”

Hermione lifted a brow as she slowly looked to Dean, then dropped it as she looked back to the Minister.

Kuznetsov gave Dean a sharp look, saying, “Russia is seventy times larger than your country.”

“Yes. And forty-five percent less likely to solve crimes,” Dean said, still showing off his dashing smile. “Now, my team here is ready to get started. On your word, of course, Minister.”

The Russian Minister for Magic gave the group a once over, then turned to Dean to pat him on the back as he motioned in which direction they would be walking. “Of course. Mr..?”

“Dean Thomas,” Dean said, extending his hand to shake Kuznetsov’s, who took it with a small smile.

“I like you,” the Minister said to Dean. “Every other person I’ve spoken to like that cowers."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as they followed Dean and the Minister down the hallway. She wasn’t completely at ease with the situation, however. If the Minister felt this way about them, it was highly likely that a large portion of their MLE believed the same. 

Kuznetsov led them to the MLE department and introduced them to Inspector Federova. He was, at the most, thirty-five years old, with dark-brown wavy hair, and his eyes were a piercing shade of blue. He wore a perfectly pressed standard dark-grey military uniform over a tall and fit frame. A pair of shiny black military boots that tied up to just below his knees topped off the ensemble. He looked none-too-pleased to see them but said nothing unpleasant.

"Which of you will be examining the body?" Federova asked.

Hermione stepped forward. "I will. With the help of my assistant." She motioned to Killian.

Federova nodded, then looked to Malfoy to ask, "You and your team will be heading to the room we've prepared?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered. 

The Inspector turned and motioned to another wizard, who walked over to them. The two spoke quickly in Russian before Federova motioned to the man, saying, "Officer Volkova will take you to your office. I will lead Inspector Granger to the morgue. When we're done there, we will visit Arlov's home."

"I'll be with the Minister," Dean told the other two heads before they parted ways. "I'll be here if you need me."

Hermione ignored a certain grey stare as she followed Federova. She didn't want Malfoy to join them in the morgue. She didn't want to be around him at all. 

She had to focus on the case.

The morgue was huge. It held multiple large rooms, and it was the one marked with a four that they entered. The healers in the room nodded to them as they passed, the Inspector stopping at an examiner's table where a body lay covered in a red sheet. Federova pulled it back to reveal Arlov's body. 

"They say all of the victims look this way. Is that true?" The Inspector asked.

Hermione set her stuff down on the table beside Arlov's and began to pull on gloves, saying, "In a way. I haven't had the opportunity to examine the body in Ireland, but they have all had runes carved into them." 

"Kuznetsov doesn't find your presence here necessary," the Inspector said. Hermione hummed, not at all surprised. She was, however, surprised when Federova added, "I disagree with him." 

Hermione glanced at him from where her eyes had been on the body, asking, "Really?"

"Truly. I feel we should be doing what you're doing: accumulating all of the evidence we can. But he believes the likelihood of the killer returning is slim."

"The killer returned to the scene in the Netherlands,” she said, beginning to check the healer’s notes. “They left a new rune on the floor in the latest victim’s blood. Almost like a calling card."

"They did?"

"Yes. You were never told?" Hermione looked up at him, curious and concerned. Harry had told her he'd informed the other ministries. 

"No. We were not. As I said, the Minister is no longer worried. You all seem very adamant to find answers. He is most likely leaving it to the younger generation to run around Europe."

"I may be young," she said, checking the meanings and origins of the runes on Arlov, "but I've been solving mysteries for the past eighteen years of my life."

"I've heard. I followed the news on Voldemort and read all about you and your boss, Potter. I was new here when all of that happened and found it all very fascinating, and your work alone especially impressive." 

Hermione smiled lightly at him. “It wasn’t all me. But… Thank you.”

He nodded. “So you’re intelligent and humble?"

The witch glanced at her assistant, whose face was downcast but smirking. Killian avoided her gaze, so she turned to Federova and said, “I know some who would disagree with that.” She went back to her work, and quickly changed the subject, asking, “Is the healer who inspected Mr. Arlov on duty?”

“No. Not today. She is out sick, unfortunately. Are there any questions that I or another healer could answer for you?”

“Perhaps… Do you know what the healer used to preserve the body? Was it practical magic or potions?”

“Our healers prefer practical while the body is above ground. Below, it is potions. Was the method not specified?” He walked around the table to stand beside her. He looked over her shoulder. "Odd. Katina is usually so thorough." He looked at the record for a few seconds more before adding, "Shall I owl her?"

Hermione shook her head. "There's no need. I was merely curious. But if you could make a note to ask her for me and pass the information along, I would be grateful."

The Inspector gave a small, one-sided smile, and nodded. "Of course. If there is anything at all you should need of me, feel free to ask."

Hermione looked up at him, aware of his proximity, and didn't like the fact that her mind went to Malfoy, her body reacting at the thought of the Slytherin as she took a step back. 

She gave a half-smile and a nod, saying, "Thank you, Inspector Federova. I'm anxious, however, to get to the crime scene. Killian. I need you to take photos as I take notes."

Hermione did her best to avoid Federova's eyes the rest of the time they were in the morgue, for she had vowed to focus. She wasn't going to let anyone distract her. Not Draco Malfoy, and not even the attractive Inspector Federova.

****

The group returned to the Russian Ministry from the crime scene in Samara before dinner, laden with evidence and photos. Federova stayed with the group the entire time they'd been in Arlov's house, and though Hermione wasn't keen on his light flirting, he'd been most helpful getting all of the information they requested.

Once they'd landed in the lobby via Portkey, for the two cities had been far enough apart to require one, Federova began to lead them back to the Portkey office. This was when they were intercepted by Dean.

"Hey, Heads," Dean greeted them as he drew close. "We're staying here in Moscow for the night. The news got out that we're here, and the Minister thinks there should be a press conference to appease the press. Eight hundred hours sharp. He wants the three of us there."

"Yay," Malfoy said gravitas, frowning.

Hermione glanced at him, giving him a frown of her own, before turning to Dean to ask, "Where are we staying?"

"The hotel is across the street," he answered her. "Want to walk and get some food? I overheard that there's a fantastic pizza place a few streets up."

"Both you and Inspector Granger are Muggleborn?" Federova asked Dean. 

The British group fell very silent for a few beats, before Malfoy took a step toward Federova with a frown, his voice darkening as he asked, "What's it to you?"

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, awed. He looked as though he was about to defend their honor, but this didn't keep the worry from her chest. He'd been in a shite mood since that morning, and neither she nor the Slytherin had said a word to the other, and this was the most forthright he'd been with Federova all day. In a room of detectives, nothing slips by. Hermione knew that Malfoy had noticed the way that Federova talked to and treated her. The Russian hadn't been overt in his actions and hadn't been too forward, but she thought Malfoy had seemed jealous.

But that was absurd because he didn't fancy her. He'd been very vocal about how much he disliked her a couple of nights ago. 

Federova must have noticed something, too, because he smirked at the frowning blonde as he said, "I didn't mean anything by it. Most wizards don't walk when they can Apparate. Not to mention that pizza isn't a typical wizard meal.

"I also ask because I know that not too long ago, your country was at war over such a thing. It is good to see you can learn, Draco Malfoy. I've been informed you're an ex-Death Eater." Malfoy glared at Federova for saying this, and Hermione bit her lip in worry. That was not a subject someone just breached willy-nilly. Not in England, anyway.

"Here," Federova continued to the angry heir, "we do not care if you are born to Muggles or wizards. All that matters to us is your character and skill." Federova turned to Hermione, giving her a curt bow. "It was an honor to work with you, Inspector Granger. Until tomorrow."

He then gave her a small smile, before turning to walk away.

"You made a friend. Inspector," Dean said once Federova was out of earshot, grinning at her and wiggling his eyebrows. 

They were considered to be higher in station than an inspector, so the Heads were never addressed as such. There were sirs and ma'ams apparently, and the occasional Superintendent, but were usually addressed as Head Granger, or Head Thomas, etc. They rarely chose to correct people, for their infrastructure was not a common one, one that was usually reserved for large ministries such as Russia, China, and America.

"You have no idea!" Killian said with a smirk. "You should have heard him in the morgue this morning. And the crime scene? Oh, buddy!"

"Officer Dane," Hermione started with a small frown, eyes boring into her assistant’s. "Do you enjoy your job?"

"Yes, ma'am," Killian answered quickly, standing straighter and becoming serious. "My apologies, ma'am." 

Hermione reconsidered Killian's raise once Dean's grin grew so large it nearly split his face. "Oh? What was he saying, Dane?" 

Killian’s eyes grew a bit wide as he shook his head. He didn't answer.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not that interesting, Dean." She couldn't help her eyes from glancing at the seething Malfoy, before adding, "I don't date Aurors."

"You should reconsider! I think he's kind of dashing," Dean said, the group heading towards the exit. "Did you see those boots? Tres chic."

"You should date him, then."

"You know very well my husband wouldn't go for it. Besides, it’s obvious he has eyes for you. I could never compare."

"You're right about that," Hermione clapped back, and Dean chuckled.

The witch glanced over her shoulder, meeting Malfoy's waiting frown. He looked away from her, and her brows furrowed in thought. 

****

Hermione made her way up from the hotel pub on the lift around midnight, far soberer than she had intended to be. She just couldn’t find it in her to drink copious amounts of alcohol at present. Her mind was too preoccupied, which usually had the opposite effect.

The group had gone to the hotel after dinner, and Hermione had wished them all goodnight. She'd showered and when she exited the bathroom she found an owl at her window. It held an envelope that contained the Portkey logs from the Netherlands and England. 

The witch combed her hair and left it free to dry, something she didn't do too often. Then she put on a pair of black joggers and a green bra and tank-top, slipped on a pair of black thongs, grabbed her files and wand, and left her room to knock on Killian's door.

The two had poured over the logs, drinking in the hotel bar, occupying a pair of leather chairs only to find none of the names matched. It had given her agita. Killian had made some good speculations during the few times she’d been paying attention. She made a note to bring the theories up to him again in the morning after she’d gotten adequate sleep.

The witch exited the lift, having left Killian in the bar, and walked down the hall to her room. She found a note stuck to her door, and before she could Alohamora the doorknob, she grabbed the note and flipped it open, recognizing Malfoy’s handwriting as she read:

‘We need to talk about the case. Room 615. -DM'

She stared at the piece of parchment for some time, debating on whether or not she should burn it and go to bed, or walk into a potentially dangerous situation.

To go, or not to go, that was the question.

She took a few steps towards the lift, for he was three floors up, then she turned right around and unlocked the door to her room. She closed it behind her and took a deep breath before turning and walking back out into the hallway and to the lift, pressing the button and standing back. The witch tried not to fidget as she walked down the hall to stand before his door. It took her a full minute of indecision before she raised her hand and knocked lightly.

She fiddled with her hands and she almost ran away. But she didn’t. She was a Gryffindor, and she wasn’t going to let him make her afraid of facing him. Besides, he could be on to something or suggest something that would make her connect a dot she hadn’t been able to before.

He answered the door a few seconds later, and she almost turned and ran away again. 

Malfoy wore nothing but a pair of soft-looking black joggers. That was it. No shirt, no socks. She couldn't even see the hint of pants under said joggers, but she did see the hint of something else under the thin fabric. His hair was damp like he'd gotten out of the shower recently, and lay askew, which was the opposite of the perfectly placed locks he usually sported.

What was more was that his scars, the ones from Harry's Sectumsempra, were on full display. Her mind flashed to the night they shagged, and how she hadn't noticed them so much then. Or the fading tattoo on his inner left forearm, now on full display as he held the door open. It had all been a rage-fueled fog. She hadn’t even thought to look. She’d been too preoccupied.

She was noticing all kinds of things now, and her mind was instantly taken by images of him from their night together. Her heartbeat quickened.

“What the fuck?” she said in a breathy whisper he couldn't hear, forcing her eyes to leave his chest and trail up to his eyes.

“Granger,” he greeted her with his usual look of indifference, moving out of the doorway to allow her to enter. She told herself to run, but her feet moved her forward into his room, the wizard closing the door behind her. 

Hermione looked about with her brows knitted because his room looked nothing like hers. It was expensively furnished, with a large kitchen, living room complete with a fireplace, and a balcony beyond a sliding glass door that had patio furniture and a sub-level hot tub. The door to the bedroom was open, showing off a bed that was the largest she'd ever seen. 

Her room wasn't bad. It had all she needed. But it wasn't at all close to the scale of his room.

For a millisecond she was confused until it dawned on her. "You pay for your rooms on business trips," she stated.

"I do," he said. "Drink?"

She finally tore her eyes from the elegant yet elaborate pattern on the couch to look at him. This was a mistake. He stood at the counter, pouring two glasses of what she assumed was scotch, and from her angle, she could fully appreciate him. 

He had broad, muscled shoulders, defined arms. His chest was flexed in his movements, pecks accentuated every time he grabbed a glass or bottle. His abs were washboard, which turned into a 'v' that framed a thin, light blonde trail of hair that disappeared down the front of those damnable joggers. His skin shone pale in the low candlelight, marred with large, slashing scars.

"What did you need to tell me? You can send me a Patronus message, you know?" She purposefully put extra annoyance in her voice to show him she wasn't in the mood; she wasn't there to drink, or to socialize, or, God forbid, appreciate his painfully good looks. Work was the only reason why she was willing to talk to him at this time.

"I haven't been able to master that, yet, " he said, contemplating the one useless drink he'd poured. "It took me years to manage a corporeal one. It's what kept me from becoming an Auror early on."

Hermione blinked. She'd heard, back in the days before Harry's promotion, that Malfoy had tried to become an Auror, but somehow failed. They weren't high enough up to know the details, the three assuming that no one wanted Death Eaters catching Death Eaters. She had never considered the reason was his failure to cast a Patronus. If you can't cast a corporeal Patronus, you can't be an Auror. When he passed the second time, she thought it odd, but when Malfoy began to prove himself, she'd forgotten all about it.

"Then tell me. What is it?"

"My Patronus? It's an albatross."

"No. I mean… Wait. A..?" Hermione laughed before she could control it, and had to force herself to stop when she saw his face. He wasn't glaring, but he wasn't happy. "Are you having a go at me?"

"No. I'm not. Expecto Patronum," Malfoy cast after pulling his wand from a pocket in his joggers. From the tip came a bright light that grew into a huge bird that perched on the low back of the couch, tucking its large wings as it stared at her.

Hermione stared back, and whispered in awe, "Merlin's hat."

"At first," Malfoy began, walking with his drink to sit next to the bird on the couch, "I didn't know how to take it. Was it another of the universe's cruel jokes? Then I learned more about the Wandering Albatross. They can fly for great distances and can glide farther than any other bird, spending their formidable years in the sky, rarely touching the ground. This is due to their wingspan of eleven feet. They can live for over fifty years, one of the few species of bird known to die of old age. They're loyal, mating for life. They're a fascinating animal. One that will go to great lengths to attain that which it wants." The blonde looked at the albatross for a few seconds before saying, "Finite."

The bird faded away in a swirl of light.

"But that's not why we're here." He took a large sip of his drink before setting his glass on a coaster on the coffee table, then sat back. "We're here because I have a theory."

She gave him a look and then decided to sit on the armchair closest to the door. Just in case. "What is it?"

"I'm beginning to think our killer is playing a game with us. And not just for obvious reasons. I think that we may have encountered our killer already, and they are leaving random runes about to lead us away from them. I'm starting to think that this person works for law enforcement. Maybe not ours, but one of them."

Hermione blinked at him. "What evidence supports this theory?" It wasn't that she didn't believe him. She was willing to consider anything at this point. It had more to do with the fact that her job, and convictions, were built on a little something called hard evidence.

"I first started to suspect it when you showed me the photos the other night. Of the crime scene in Amsterdam." Hermione steeled her face, because that had been right before they'd shagged, and she didn't want to give away the fact that she went back to that place, in both her mind and body. "When we'd gone to see the crime scene before we even knew about the clay rune, Inspector Harknes had had to drop the wards on the door. The ones that only those in law enforcement can drop. 

"Then you consider the scarred runes that are showing up after the autopsies. Unless the person is using Polyjuice potion, the only people who are allowed near the bodies thereafter are Aurors or healers."

"There's no way we could interrogate all of those people," Hermione said, brain working at full speed. "Russia has a team of 30 healers in their morgue alone, not to mention every officer involved in every case." Hermione was not convinced, for she was imaging the man hours it would take to conduct those interrogations and the people who would possibly die at the hands of their killer before they could find the right person.

"I'm thinking we don't need to interrogate all of them. I'm thinking we don't even need to interrogate the officers. Just the healers, and one in particular. One who was MIA a few days ago."

Hermione was quiet for about a minute, her mind flipping through information like one would files in a cabinet.

Then it clicked.

"The healer. Poitier. In Bray-Dunes. The one on holiday." Hermione looked at him wide-eyed, and he smirked at her. 

"You know," he said, taking a drink. "I wondered how long it would take you to get it. I was starting to think I'd have to spell it out for you."

She glared, saying, "Eat shite, Malfoy." He frowned at her. "But her name wasn't on the Portkey records for England or the Netherlands." 

"Either way, we need to figure out where she went before we can rule her out," Malfoy said. "We need to know if she'll be back. They exhumed Arlov. His body won't be reburied until the morning. She could revisit him if she knows he's above ground."

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione cast, having grabbed her wand without a second thought. Her otter sprung from her wand, waiting for her command, "Inspector Federova. It's Granger. I have reason to believe the killer may try and visit Arlov's body. Please station a surveillance team on the morgue."

She looked up to Draco, who raised a brow at her and asked, "Federova, eh?" He looked none-too-pleased.

She rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore him. "Have you told anyone else about this hunch?" She asked him, her mind on overdrive, remembering names of healers and Aurors from each case; the names that had stuck out to her from the Portkey logs.

"No. Not even Marx. But with an attitude like yours, I probably should have skipped right over you and owled Harry."

She glared deeply, saying, "You wouldn't fucking dare."

"I might. If it means I get to see you angry. I've concluded that, despite the cons, there are some immense benefits to your being angry with me." The smirk that played at the corner of his mouth was teasing, and she knew exactly what he meant by saying what he did.

Her heart was in her throat, and she managed to take her glare to the next level, her lips turning into a sneer as she said, "You're a prick, you know that?"

"I know what you think I am."

"Why would you even mention that?"

"We've got to talk about it sometime."

"No we don't," she said, standing defensively. "I'd rather eat my wand."

"Does it bother you that much?"

"Of course it does! Why doesn't it bother you? Your candor that night made it clear you abhor me."

"That's true," he admitted, setting his drink down to stand. "But I have to admit that I didn't hate what we did. And I could tell that you didn't hate it, either."

If she was honest, totally and completely brutally honest with herself, no, she hadn't hated it. She’d hated the fact that it had happened with him of all people, but there had been nothing wrong with the sex. Nothing at all. 

"It doesn't matter who hated or didn't hate it. It was a mistake. This is a mistake. I shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" He asked, walking toward her. "Afraid it's going to happen again?"

She didn't answer him. She merely glared.

"You are!" He said, giving what she could only call a triumphant smirk.

He was such an arse.

"I am not!"

"Now why would you lie, and why would you be afraid of it happening again? Do you want it to happen again?"

"No," she said, becoming angry, but tried like hell to not let it take over.

He took a step toward her, and she held her ground. He wasn't going to get away with harassing her. They weren't kids anymore.

"I think you do," he said, standing before her with his arms crossed over his chest, still holding that irritating smirk. "I wouldn't mind. You look especially beautiful on your knees, Hermione. And you make the most amazing noises when you come."

Her pussy clenched... and she smacked him across the face.

She was livid that he would say those things to her. The filthiness of his words, the fact that he thought her beautiful, hearing her name on his tongue, made something stir in her belly, lighting a fire within her she desperately wished she could smother. 

The witch then put both of her hands on his chest to push him away, because, despite being smacked, he looked pleased as punch at her new, wide-eyed expression. She then turned and walked for the door. Standing her ground could be damned because she couldn't listen to him talk about her like that. It did things to her.

"Why are you like this?" he asked her back.

"Why are you like this?" She asked as she turned on him. "I'm starting to think that the moment we shared has led you to believe something has changed. We shagged. That's it. End of story. It happened, and it will never happen again. Because we fucking hate each other, Malfoy. What the fuck is the matter with you? We have a killer to catch! We can't spend our time distracted by… by whatever the hell this is!"

He took a step in her direction, asking evenly, "And what is this?"

She took a step back and hated herself when she began to feel her pulse quicken for an entirely different reason than anger. "It's nothing."

He took another step, and she took another backward. "I think it's a little more complicated than that."

Another step for each put Hermione's back to the door and him but a breath away from her. She felt much like she did the day before, in the morgue, except this time, the witch felt anger rise alongside a desire she'd been trying to strangle to death for the past forty-eight hours. 

Staring into his eyes, his blonde hair falling over them like a platinum veil, she said in a steady voice, "I'm sure I don't want to know."

He gave her a questioning look, saying, "I was under the impression that you wanted to know everything."

"Not when it comes to you."

"I highly doubt that." He was taunting her again, getting the rise out of her that he admitted to getting off on.

She hated him.  
in  
"You'll never climb out of your arse, will you?" She said, glaring up at him as he leaned in closer.

"And you have yet to climb out of yours." He emphasized this by grabbing her by her arse, lifting her off her feet to where she had to wrap her legs around him, and he pressed his chest against her own to keep her stable. 

She gulped audibly, then whispered, "You're inexcusable," for she didn't have much breath left her. He'd taken it with his grip on her backside. His touch made her brain melt.

He smirked. "You're abhorrent."

"Insufferable." She could only manage single words as his smirk reached her neck, leaving light kisses wherever it went.

“Detestable,” he said between kisses.

“Despicable,” she breathed, head tilting to lean against the door, her eyelids fluttering as he sucked lightly on the skin just above her collarbone.

When he stopped, he whispered, "Desirable.”

She shivered, her eyes opening and he pulled back to look into hers. For a moment, her mind screamed at her to leave, but her body didn't move to tear herself from him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him, and she felt him smile against her lips as he tightened his grip on her arse and pulled her from the door.

He moved them to the couch, laying her down. His hands went up her shirt to grab her breasts through her bra, her own hands in his hair, holding him to her as she moaned in his mouth at his hands massaging her roughly. She found she liked it, his being rough with her. None of her lovers before him had had the thought of being rough, and she hadn't thought of how much she might like it. Now, she craved his gripping, claiming touch on every part of her body. 

The prick. 

Hermione pulled away from him to ask, "You do know you're a prick, right?"

"You know you're an arsehole, yeah?" He asked as he began to pull her shirt up and over her head. He threw the garment to the ground and turned back to her, setting his fingers to a particularly large scar that ran just below her breasts, his brows drawing inquisitively. "Where did you get these?"

Hermione bit her lip, looking away from him down to her body, which had never fully recovered from her time in the Department of Mysteries, or Bellatrix's torture. Not to mention the scars from handling Horcruxes. She'd earned them from her courageous nature, but she always felt like they took away from her beauty. Besides wearing a bikini on vacation, in a place where no one knew her history, she wore long sleeves, slacks, and buttoned the top button of her shirt always. But he had scars of his own, and they took nothing away from his appeal, and the witch wondered if that's how he saw her.

She frowned as he continued to inspect them, and said, "From war. Horcruxes. Curses… and torture."

He looked up from his fingertips to her eyes, saying, "They're exquisite." She blinked at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. "I especially like this one." He set his mouth to a scar that swirled up from beneath her bra on her right breast, which settled a few inches below her suprasternal notch. His tongue traced the raised flesh, the sensation both teasing and tickling her, her hands going to the hard muscles of his biceps as a smile crept up her face.

She couldn't help it, but she began to laugh, squirming to break away from him. He sat up some, a brow raised, and she said while smiling, "That tickles."

He smirked at her, his eyes lingering on her face before he set his mouth back to the spot, Hermione tensing and fearful that he was going to torture her with his tongue. But he only traced it lightly for a second before trailing downward. With agility, he slipped one hand around her and up her back to unclasp her bra. She pulled it from her arms leaving it lying between them, for he'd attached his greedy lips to her left nipple, and her hands were back to his arms as the pulse in her core tightened in pleasure.

One of Hermione's spots were her nipples, the nerves responsive, aware of every slight motion from his tongue. He lightly used his teeth, biting and dragging and pulling, soothing any roughness with a suck and ample use of tongue. She moaned every time he used the tip of the experienced muscle to flick quickly at the peak. Then he moved to the other side, his one hand coming up to glide over the slick flesh of the hardened nipple, and the witch pushed herself up into him, her hips moving of their own volition, grinding into his leg.

She bit her lip and moaned through her teeth, a loud "mmmnnn" escaping as her head tilted back. He answered the noise by pinching and lightly twisting one nipple, and giving the other a harder-than-average bite. She yelped but didn't pull away. That is until a bright light came in through the open balcony door.

The two on the couch froze and looked up to the massive Caucasian Shepherd that sat on its haunches near their heads. A second's pause, and then they heard Federova's voice:

"Inspector Granger. I will have two of my comrades follow your instructions immediately. Thank you for the information. I will let you know if anything happens, and I await your presence at the conference in the morning. Sleep well."

The dog disappeared in a wisp of white-blue light.

The two looked back at each other, Hermione assessing Malfoy's face as he frowned. Then he smirked at her and said, "I'll be making sure you sleep well tonight, Inspector Granger."

Hermione tried to glare at him, but couldn't fight an eye-roll and a smirk as he picked her up off the couch and carried her into the bedroom. He set her down at the end of the bed, the witch appreciating the feel of the high-quality duvet on her skin, and the firm mattress below it. He stooped low, grabbing her joggers and knickers by the bands, pulling them down, the woman lying back and lifting her hips to help him. When he stood straight, she wasted no time in raising her hands to copy him, her fingers wrapping around the waistband of his joggers and she confirmed that he was not wearing anything beneath them, his cock standing at full attention but inches from her face.

Without even thinking, Hermione reached up to grab his prick, holding it still to put him in her mouth. She once again appreciated how large he was, her thumb unable to touch her middle finger as she wrapped her palm around him to aid in taking him deeper and deeper, her saliva wetting him quickly in her excitement. 

When she allowed him entrance into the back of her throat, his hands went to her hair, working the mane of curls into something he could wrap around his hand once to hold her firmly, using it to pull her down to the floor and to her knees. His free hand cupped below her chin, and he used his grip to have full control; pumping in and out of her at his own pace, the witch barely able to breathe between the moments he was thrusting and the ones where he went as far as her throat would allow, the witch staring up at him with watering eyes.

When she gagged, he pulled out and gripped the base of his cock, slapping her lips with the tip as she caught her breath. He must have found the two or three deep breaths she took adequate, for he put himself back into her roughly, making her gag again, and then pulled out fully. She glared up at him as he smirked down at her, and when she opened her mouth to tell him off for his expression, it only served as another way for him to put his spit-coated cock back into her, and this time with ruthless thrusts, the wizard tipping her head back and into the mattress, letting go of her hair to place his hand firmly to her throat. The position seemed awkward, but from the look on his face he didn't seem to mind, he merely bent at the knees to compensate for the height difference and fucked her head into the mattress, Hermione grabbing the muscles of his legs as he used her face how we wanted. But she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy it, because she felt herself becoming wet enough for the juices to run down the inside of either thigh.

It didn't last long, however, before he relented. Before she could recover, he bent low to grab her by the curve of her waist and tossed her up onto the bed, a squeal of surprise leaving her as she landed somewhere in the middle. He then grabbed her by the hips to slide her down the bed, and he resumed her position on his knees between her legs and then proceeded to lick her cunt dry. 

As if her wetness hadn't been clue enough, Hermione was startled by how close she was to coming when he began to suck on her folds and clit, his hands coming up under her arse and holding her to him. She was oddly reminded of the pizza she'd eaten earlier, the man devouring her as she pressed into him and kneaded the covers around her, unable to find sure handling as he brought her closer and closer and closer.

"OhmyfuckingGod!" She exclaimed as she felt her body tip and plunge into orgasm, one hand finding one of his wrists and the other his hair to hold onto as she felt like she might fall at the sheer force of ecstasy. 

She barely noticed him pull away from her, the witch a pool of shivers and convulsions. Malfoy climbed up onto the bed beside her and used her hip to roll her towards him and onto her stomach before shifting and using his knees to spread her legs. With a firm grip, he lifted her onto her knees, the wizard appreciating the view with his hands, which trailed along her back and over her arse, down the back of her thighs and back up her buttocks before he lined himself up with her cunt.

He pushed himself into her, slowly, and worked her orgasm-tightened quim, slicking himself on her until he reached the hilt, Hermione.gasping at the feeling of him hitting the deepest reaches of her. He moved in and out of her, at one point spreading her with one hand, his cock in the other. He pulled out to the tip and moved back in until his hand stopped him. He did so again and again until at one point he slipped out, and Hermione moaned loudly when the tip of his cock slid over her arsehole. Her head tipped back at the tingling sensation that coursed through her at the contact.

"What?" He asked loudly, a disbelieving chuckle in his chest. "Do you like..?" He copied the motion, and Hermione shivered at the pleasure it caused. 

"Is it so hard to believe?" She asked, looking back at him, her face hot at his question and her own need.

"I," he paused to copy the motion along her backside, the witch trembling and moaning yet again. "I would have never imagined."

"You've been imagining what I like, have you?"

He grabbed her by the back of her hair, and as he began to pull she brought a hand back to wrap around his wrist. She keened as her back bowed at the force of him pulling her up, her back to his chest. 

In a whisper, he said, "You have been all I can think about. How you taste, how you smell, how you feel in my arms, and how your cunt feels wrapped around my cock." 

Hermione's breath was heavy, and despite the painful grasp in her hair, she trembled at his words. She managed a whisper, saying, "All day, all I can feel is your hands on me, and your lips on mine and your hard prick fucking me until I can't see."

"I've been hard for days," he said his tongue on her ear.

"I haven't stopped aching," she admitted shamelessly, leaning back into his hold.

"I could keep you in my bed forever."

"I would let you."

She told herself that it had been the lust talking, but she had been honest. If he kept doing these things to her, and she had no other responsibilities, she'd let him hold her down and fuck her until she died.

Malfoy let go of her hair, the witch falling back onto her hands, and he placed both of his hands on either of the globes of her arse, spreading her open for him so he could use his tongue to lap at the puckered orifice. The witch gave a delighted gasp and bit her lip, her eyes rolling back as he masterfully teased her by pushing his tongue as far in as he was able, only to pull it out and let the tip circle its way around her hole.

She melted into a puddle, her elbows growing weak, collapsing into the pillows with an arch in her back that saw her arse in the air, giving the man behind her full access to whatever he wanted. He kept his mouth on her arse and lost a digit or two in her cunt, slicking his fingers down to his palm.

With a whine from Hermione, Draco sat back, his tongue abandoning its post, only for her noise of protestation to trail into a gasp when a second later she felt a wetted finger enter her arse to the first knuckle. He began to slip his finger in and out, working her so that she could take more and more of it. By the time his one finger was all of the way in, Hermione's nerves were alight, the woman becoming lost in the vacuum of pleasure. When he pulled out to add another finger, Hermione pushed herself back, ready for more. It was uncomfortable for a minute or two to have both of his fingers stretching her, but she welcomed the small amount of pain if it meant the immense pleasure that was to follow.

"Granger," he said, his voice thoughtful and playful as his fingers sunk in up to the second knuckle. "You know I have to ask this now... But what do you do in your spare time?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, and go faster," Hermione said. She didn't feel like detailing to him any of her former escapades. It wasn't his business. He just got to benefit from them.

"That is the only reasonable way in which you can boss me," he said, and followed her orders, pumping his fingers faster and deeper.

Her head lulled back and her mouth fell open as she let out noises she couldn't control; deep moans, whimpers, and cries growing louder and louder, the pressure building…

He stopped, pulling his fingers from her loosened arse, and Hermione hummed with anticipation when his cock touched her entrance. Draco pushed himself into her, slowly, cautiously. She pursed her lips as she groaned, but didn't stop him. The witch concentrated on her breathing and muscles, relaxing the best she could as he took his time stretching her with his girth. While he inched his way in, he said things to her that made it impossible for her not to push herself back onto him.

"You are the sexiest woman I've ever seen." … "Your arse is so tight." … "Do you want me to come in it?" … "Do you like it when I fuck you like this?" … "If you don't stop moaning like that, Granger," he paused to smack her ass, "I'm going to come."

She didn't stop. She couldn't. The farther his cock reached, the farther from the earth she became. Hermione did her best, but she could hardly think. Her orgasm was building faster with every slow stroke, and as much as she would have wanted to say something eloquent if she'd had the choice, all she could manage was, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!", as she pushed her hips back to meet him.

His hands trailed from her arse, up her back, to her shoulders, and back down again, all while he worked himself into her. And when he began to quicken his pace, going deeper and deeper, she started to feel her core tighten with every thrust.

She reached for the headboard with both hands, stabilizing herself as well as giving her something to push against. She was on a physical high that she didn't want to come from down from, that heightened when he placed his hands over hers, the wizard bending over her, groaning into her shoulder, "I'm going to come."

The thought gave her fire. Having him admit that she was bringing him to climax was sexual to her in a way she didn't realize she needed. He was always so terrible but seeing him primal and forceful and passionate shot electricity through her veins because she brought that out of him. 

She came harder than she had the first time, lights bursting in her half-lidded vision, and he followed her. He pushed himself into her as he unloaded, one hand moving from the headboard to her hip, which she needed for support at the force of her orgasm.

"Merlin's fucking sake, I can't believe you!" He pulled out and lay back on the pillows, breathing heavily for a minute or so, his cock still hard, and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. 

She pulled herself up and over him, straddling his hips with ease.

"You need more, witch?" He asked, looking up at her with a smirk and dazed look in his eyes.

She only smirked at him as she waved her hand, cleaning him quickly before she lined him up with her soaking center and sunk onto him. Her senses were heightened, her body teetering on an orgasm right away, but she stopped herself so that she could enjoy the way it felt when she moved her hips just so, the tip of him pushing against her spot over and over as she mewled wantonly.

"Does that feel good, Hermione?"

"So good," she moaned and gasped when he hit the sweet spot again.

"Are you going to come for me again?"

"Mm-hm," she hummed, lost in her body's ecstasy. 

"Gods, I love watching you come."

She began to move faster, his words spurring her on, the pressure building, the witch stringing words together she couldn't hear. All she could do was feel; his palms and fingertips as they squeezed and groped and grabbed her by the neck; his legs and hips as they moved to meet her rhythm with loud slaps; a heat rising in her that created prickling beads of sweat at her crown.

The overwhelming feeling of her orgasm taking her. 

Her body rigid as her hips moved. 

Her mouth opening to let out a cry that sounded like his first name. 

Before the wracking waves of ecstasy could stop, before the fog of her mind could clear, he had her flipped onto her back. He moved one hand into her hair and the other onto her hip, holding her down as he pounded into her mercilessly, and within seconds he was coming again. He kissed her, moaning into her mouth, holding her tight against him. She held him back, her arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, putting her hands in his hair. They stayed like this for a while, the two kissing each other until Hermione pulled away to breathe. 

Rolling off of her to catch his breath, he kept his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. She lay there facing him, her arm over his middle, and after two nights of self-induced insomnia mixed with intense sex, Hermione fell asleep in Draco's arms.

****

The familiar, dull clop of hooves startled Hermione awake. The sun hadn't yet come up over the horizon, the glow of the corporeal stag at the end of the bed shining bright in the darkness. 

Recognizing immediately that Harry had sent her a message, she barely noticed the man beside her sit up as their boss' words began to play:

“Hermione. The press conference for this morning has been canceled. I need you and the rest of the team to pack up and meet me in Rome. There’s been another sacrifice."

~*~*~*~  
Part 2  
Fin


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